I hate you. Seriously, I’m not joking. You are a short, rude, cruel and sorry excuse for a road.

I tried to test your might today and failed. Miserably. I wonder if anyone has been able to conquer your steep spine. I would like to buy them a beer.

I’m sure people have done it. They must be built like weeds. To stay so thin, they probably cannot eat anything that casts a shadow. They also must train everyday. And spit gravel. And have anger issues. And have fire ants in their socks.

I’m not proud of failing. I’m very competitive, but I’m also over 200 pounds. And I don’t spit gravel or train every day. But I thought I could break you.

As it turns out, I couldn’t even break you in half. My muscles were yelling, the sun was burning and my body was soaked. And still you laid there silently, bored with my feeble attempt.

I had to dismount and walk up the rest. Motorists drove by with sympathetic looks on their faces, knowing Jester had beaten another challenger.

We will meet again, I can promise you that. I’m not scared of your 20 percent grade anymore. I know who you are and what you are all about. Next time I will be prepared.